


Floristry

by SherlockianGirl14



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Flowers, I'm uploading this in school I look weird, M/M, and Cuteness, and I can't tag stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 13:31:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4748225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockianGirl14/pseuds/SherlockianGirl14
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When bouquets start turning up on motel doorsteps, Sam doesn't know what to think. That is, until a few tips point him in the direction of the archangel who he was sure was dead, who he forced himself not to think about...</p><p>Oh look, another terrible summary</p>
            </blockquote>





	Floristry

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr prompt

At first, it was nothing but a slightly creepy bundle of ivy on their doorstep. They thought it was tied to the case, in fact- they were hunting a coven. The note attached read Sam and when it turned out to be unrelated, Sam kept it in the car until they got back to the bunker, unsure quite what it was or what it had to do with anything. He researched ivy in mythology for weeks before brushing it off as just some other weird occurrence, nothing to worry about.  
Next it was at the bunker itself that a bouquet appeared. It was made up of white tulips and yellow roses.  
Sam created an account on a floristry forum and posted asking the link between the three plants, if any.  
It took a few weeks to get a response, but eventually he did.

‘Sorry’.

A week after that, a bouquet overflowing with blue and purple hyacinths appeared on the doorstep. He wasn’t sure quite how he knew what they were and Dean mocked him for understanding, but he posted an update and, sure enough, hyacinths in those colours had the potential to represent sorrow and peace- an offer, or perhaps a plea. But he had no idea who from.  
A day later was a potted plant- a white orchid. He asked, and one or two replied that it could represent the sorrow not being flimsy, but lasting like the orchid could. He was beginning to gather a following of 15 or so flower fanatics wondering, like him, just who this admirer was that had done him wrong. And who it was that would send a grown man flowers.  
The bunker was soon frequently stocked with anonymous flowers- asphodel, white poppies, scarlet geraniums, daffodils, gerberas and marigolds. Although some were obscure, the forum conceded that all of these could be interpreted as a drawn-out apology.

Then the ‘love’ flowers began turning up. Acacia (Sam had to ask the forum on what it was, and he was overcome by messages declaring that he should let go of a grudge because this guy was damn loyal… And why was that, anyway, that they all presumed he was gay? He wasn’t entirely straight as such, but that wasn’t the point. Still, he didn’t right their wrong so he supposed he couldn’t exactly complain all of a sudden).   
Anemone flowers, ambrosias, arbutus… that was just the start of the long, extensive list, most of which he had never heard of. Clearly, this person had gone to a lot of effort, especially considering nobody they knew were exactly the floristry type. He tried to think back to anyone particularly grateful they had helped, but none came to mind. He even considered Becky and risked shooting her a message asking if she knew anything about flowers, getting nothing except a ‘I will’, whatever that meant. He shot back a ‘you misunderstood, I think’ and never mentioned it again.  
Soon dozens of bouquets were cropping up each month- it had been 6 months now and Sam still had no idea what the hell was going on.   
The final bouquet that came consisted of red roses, star of Bethlehem (another for the forum to identify), tilia cordata sprigs (this one left the forum baffled for a while until one member came along, informing Sam that this gesture was ‘flirty as hell’). Purple lilacs (communicating a beginning of love, the forum replied); mauve carnations that apparently meant fantasy (Sam couldn’t help but think of Becky once more when he heard that). The final flower was the one that had him work it out- he recognized these as angel’s trumpets.  
In all, the bouquet was mixed and rather strange, but it was beautiful. Some of these plants clearly weren’t meant to be used for bouquets and it showed (and Dean commented on it, too), but he didn’t care.   
Suddenly the thoughts of the archangel that he had pushed back were coming back to him, how he felt about him, their brief affair. He’d told himself the guy was dead, gone. Told himself it was too late and it was his fault.  
Stepping back into the shabby motel room, he sat down at the bed, visibly shaken to his brother.  
“Hey, dude, I swear these places are movin’ on up!” Dean muttered, his words unclear, and when Sam glanced up, his mouth was full, smudges of chocolate of his lips. Sam gasped, suddenly sat bolt upright at the final confirmation he needed. “I know! Here; catch,” Dean called to him, and suddenly there was a gold-wrapped chocolate square in his lap. He unwrapped it carefully, a small piece of paper falling from the wrapper.  
‘Heya, Samson.’  
Sam cursed, getting him a confused glance from Dean.

Dean had grumbled and complained, but he had finally caved in and helped his brother compile a bouquet made up of ambrosia (reciprocation) and aloe (grief) and blue and purple hyacinth, a single red rose in with the bunch. A note attached to the bouquet read ‘come back, Gabe’.  
Setting the bouquet outside the door, he paced restlessly for half of the evening.   
Dean had conceded that it was clearly hopeless waiting up for the trickster to appear. Dean had hinted at it being a longwinded prank, stating that, even if Gabriel was alive, he doubted that he would give a damn about most anyone.  
Sam was determined to wait, adamant that his brother was wrong. So Dean rolled his eyes and headed out to track down fast food so they could eat; Sam realised with a start that he was starving, that he hadn’t eaten that day, too busy tracking down the perfect response.  
He jumped at the knock on the door, quickly muttering to himself that he shouldn’t get his hopes up, that it was probably any number of people that weren’t Gabriel.  
Of course, that was ruled out when he swung the door open, revealing Gabe standing there, smiling nervously and holding out the rose, which he had plucked free from the bouquet. He was dressed in darkwash jeans, a white shirt and a black waistcoat, clearly dressed to impress Sam.  
“Hi,” Sam muttered in a daze, letting him step inside.  
Turing, he couldn’t help but grin at the table set for two, candles lit at it and dinner served at the plate.  
“You know, to make it up to me you’re going to have to do a lot more than dinner,” Sam warned as he sat down.  
“I know. This is a start, though, right?”  
“Yes. This is a start. A good one,” Sam smiled as he poured wine into two glasses. “I’m gonna have to tell that flower forum about this.”


End file.
